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Politics and the English Language
I’ve been working all week on a very, very serious article about the upcoming French election and its significance to the world. I was planning to share the highlights of my week’s worth of Deep Thoughts About French Politics with you this morning, but a) The article’s still not finished; b) It occurred to me that maybe you aren’t anywhere near as interested in this election as I am, which would be quite understandable; c) It’s the weekend; and d) I just found these videos and they’re hilarious.
So: The newsroom at France24, which I assume is staffed by native English speakers, is very smug about how much better their English is than France’s politicians. To the horror of the Académie française, I’m sure, young French people tend to think speaking English is really cool, and those who can lord it over those who can’t — and that’s most of them. This by the way is for real linguistic reasons that it would take me too long to explain in detail; it has to do with the narrowness of the French phonetic target — by the time he or she is an adult, a native French speaker’s oral musculature is just too weak to make a wide range of the very strange sounds English-speakers make; it’s not because they’re lazy; they do try hard, but if you don’t get them young, they’ll just never be able to pronounce words like “they.” It’s not their fault: The “θ” sound really is the linguistic equivalent of a Flying Disco Drop three-ball juggling cascade:
Anyway, today France 24 ran an article about the “ongoing dialogue in the FRANCE 24 newsroom on the challenge of translating French presidential hopefuls’ slogans and party names into the language of Shakespeare.” Those of you who are actually interested in the French language or French politics may consult it at your leisure. But those of you who just want to laugh at the French may skip directly to the video:
They saved the best for last. “In the newsroom,” they explain, “we’ve been referring to this video as Macron’s ‘Vagina monologue.'”
I have a message for you guys. #ScienceMarch pic.twitter.com/ZnkFIIksdx
— Emmanuel Macron (@EmmanuelMacron) February 10, 2017
The rest of the article is funny too, but I wasn’t sure it conformed to our Code of Conduct, so to be on the safe side, I’ve redacted all the punchlines:
The race’s other leading candidates, Les Républicains’ scandal-plagued conservative François Fillon, the Socialists’ Benoît Hamon, and the National Front’s Marine Le Pen haven’t struggled as much in translation as they have to stay on message.
Fillon’s primary slogan: “Le courage de la verité” or “The Courage of Truth,” started to ring a bit false once the news of alleged fake jobs, in which his wife and children were allegedly paid for work they never performed, broke in late January.
Quietly changed to “Une volonté pour la France”, “Willpower for France,” the new slogan can be seen on street posters, which vandals and political activists have delighted in defacing so that they read, “Un vol pour la France”: “Theft for France.”
The extreme right’s Marine Le Pen has kept it simple with “Au Nom du Peuple!”, “In the Name of the People!” taking a cue from the Macron campaign by using that funky exclamation mark.
Socialist Hamon, meanwhile, has gone with a message that not only warms the heart, but makes it beat again: “Faire battre le Cœur de la France”, “Make the Heart of France Beat [Again].
It all brings back fond memories of former president Nicolas Sarkozy, who confounded the English-language press back in 2012, after a man attending the annual Salon d’Agriculture refused to shake the then-president’s hand, to which Sarkozy replied, “[Redacted]!” [Warning: Video contains strong language.]
There’s no soft way to translate the conservative politician’s phrasing: “Get lost, you [redacted].”
But as this story went to press, another debate was launched in the newsroom: “No, it’s closer to ‘[redacted]!’ “The original meaning is actually ‘[redacted]’, but that seems a bit harsh.” “Ok, how about [redacted]?”
It was funny before I made it family-friendly, trust me.
And just so we here on Ricochet don’t come across as total snobs: What’s the most embarrassing mistake you’ve ever made in your efforts to speak a foreign tongue? I’d tell you about mine — it was in Turkish, on Twitter — but I’m afraid that story doesn’t conform to our Code of Conduct. A concerned Turkish citizen, realizing I clearly had no idea what I’d just said, sent me a DM that very gently explained that I must never, ever, ever use that word again. It took me a long time for me to find someone who wasn’t too embarrassed to tell me what it meant. I’m still embarrassed when I think about it now.
As for the very, very serious article about French politics, I’ll post the link to it when I finish it. I reckon it can wait. Enjoy the weekend.
Published in General
That’s just the international phonetic symbol for the “th” sound.
I haven’t been in France in 55 years, since DeGaulle kicked us out. My knowledge of current French doings is limited.
Well, of course I have. I mean, I’ve lived abroad so much that I’d have to be a saint never to have lost my temper. I’m not a saint.
I wouldn’t say I embarrassed myself — sometimes losing your temper works — but I’m never proud of myself when I fail to find a more polite and respectful way of handling frustration.
I think American’s should be pretty forgiving of French politicians trying to speak English, given very few American politicians (and even fewer Americans) speak any foreign language.
And my Spanish is still terrible because now I remember that I’m supposed to say “muy bien.”
I can sympathize with that, I took 4 years of high school Spanish and I never did learn how to properly roll my r’s, which is basically the only phoneme in Spanish that isn’t part of my native tongue.
Mmmm….Kartoffelpuffer….mit Majo…..
Human in Japanese: ningen.
Carrot in Japanese: ninjin
However, the kanji for human is jin, so it’s not surprising if newbies sometimes say ninjin for ningen.
A new English teacher way out in the countryside where foreigners are a rarity was getting tired of continuous stares from locals astonished by her red hair. Finally, when she judged her linguistic abilities sufficient for the task, she got up in the middle of her train car to lecture the astounded riders,
I am not an animal in a zoo for all you to stare at! I am just like you! I am a carrot!! You are carrots!!! WE ARE ALL CARROTS!!!!
Feeling she was on a roll, she delivered the dramatic last line with arms outstretched and a vibrato in her delivery just as the train pulled into the station and the doors opened for her to exit in triumph. Only later, upon replaying in her mind her excellent speech, did she realize she had substituted ninjin for ningen.
True story. Except, possibly, her hair color, which might be an embellishment added by my iffy memory of how the story was told to me.
I tried to convince my students over and over again of the virtues of the phonetic inventory of English back in the day. There were zero sounds in German, Dutch or Swedish they couldn’t already make. The good ones got it.
… mit Apfelsoße, bitte.
Du hast also Dich mit meinen Nachbarn unterhalten.
A few people recommended early language education. Just thought I’d make a suggestion that might save some grief.
Yes, kids are geniuses at language learning, and there is no hyperbole in that statement. The child’s brain is made for language learning, and they can all do it, virtually perfectly, so long as the conditions are right.
The conditions? 1) Learn the language within the critical period for language learning (up to very early teens for most boys and a few years later for most girls, which is why girls tend to do better in high school exchange programs). 2) Be surrounded by the language in natural and diverse circumstances for many hours a day, like we all were for at least one language and many of us were for several. Schools can fulfill condition number one, but they are far far from being able to fulfill condition number two. School learning for children is very close to a waste of time and money.
Two exceptions. 1) If they are learning a language closely related to their own like, say, a German child learning English. In such a case language learning is a bit of a simple substitution drill and some kids can achieve some progress. 2) If the school learning is immersion, in which case, typically, the child becomes very good at understanding, somewhat less good at speaking.
EDIT: The critical period for pronunciation ends a few years earlier than for other parts of the language.
Only behind “At this point what difference does it make?”
Yeah, my three years of high school German was more than thirty years ago. I think you say, “You, though, “understop” with my neighbor.” I’m pretty sure that’s wrong.
I had a lovely German Pastor at my home one time, he was telling me how difficult it was to bring the family cat over to Canada with all the paperwork, even though the cat was already “vaccinated against Rabbis”, etc. I had to take a moment…
Even with their broken English, the French accents sounds so nice. I know there was discussion last year about French schools making foreign languages optional not compulsory as it’s been for a while. That probably won’t help matters. Many people complain about Canada’s mandatory French education, I know I complained when I had to take half my classes in French from kindergarten. But it’s a bit like being forced to learn piano, you’re so so grateful later in life to have those skills programmed early.
“Someone has placed a bim in mah rim!”
That’s classic!
Re the comments about the French having changed, I haven’t been back to France since there were francs, but given that my wife is British and a specialist in French (and Italian) opera, that’s bound to change. I hope the French haven’t changed that much and that they remain relatively linguistically cloistered–hélas, that was always much of the fun of the place.
I learned Spanish growing up in Peru. In my 20s I was working in California as a bilingual secretary when I was asked to translate a company questionnaire into Spanish. It was a questionnaire that the company nurse used when doing medical check-ups on new hires. One question was “Do you ever feel dizzy when you are standing up? Do you ever feel dizzy when you are lying down?” I translated “when you are lying down” as “cuando esta’s echado” [sorry, I can’t do proper accent marks on my tablet]. It is informal Peruvian Spanish for lying down, but all the Mexicans completing the questionnaire were understanding “Do you every feel dizzy when you are getting laid?”
Professional translators are supposed to translate into their native language. I learned this the hard (and embarrassing) way.
My Boy Scout troop used to camp at Putah Creek in Northern California. This would result in sophomoric comments. Wikipedia:
The true meaning of “Putah” in Putah Creek has been the subject of discussion and speculation. It was originally called “Arroyo de los Putos” (1844) and “Puta Creek” (1845), but the “Puta” form was rejected by the United States Board on Geographic Names… According to Erwin Gudde (1889–1969), the resemblance is “purely accidental;” the revised fourth edition of Gudde’s California Place Names has the following entry:
There are some freaks out there, though. I knew a guy in high school who after a year studying Russian had a bigger vocabulary and better pronunciation than those of us with two or three years under their belts.
Also a guy who started studying Yiddish in college, and by the time he was in grad school could speak Litvish and Hungarian dialects well enough to convince native speakers that he was one of them.
You know how when you understand a language and you hear it spoken in a crowded room you tend to look when you hear it across the room? I had Chinese roommates in college who worked hard to teach me to swear in Cantonese; I finally got the tones right for a couple of pretty filthy insults. I was at a party and this guy staggered into me and I spilled my beer all over myself. I let fly and got a the glance and then a double take from a Chinese girl so I must have gotten the pronunciation right. But I was pretty much a one trick pony; I only speak a few words and my accent is terrible.
The other day I watched a BBC interview with Alexei Navalny that was conducted in January. It’s on Navalny’s YouTube channel. I was surprised, but not completely surprised, to see that Navalny can handle English pretty well under pressure. He was awkward in places, but he comes across as an intelligent guy in our language.
I’ve seen Putin attempt English on YouTube, too. He may do well riding a horse when shirtless, and he may make amazing underwater archaeological discoveries, but his spoken English is not as good as Navalny’s. It’s a lot better than any American president’s Russian (even John Q. Adams spoke French when he was minister to Russia) but it’s probably not as good as he thinks it is.
I say I was not completely surprised, because from about October to his arrest in March, a lot of the YouTube videos from Navalny’s organization had good English subtitles (and some had subtitles in other languages, such as Finnish and Polish). So it was apparent that somebody in his organization had a good command of English. Navalny himself has done only a couple of videos since he was released from prison, and they don’t have English subtitles.
Titus’s English is almost flawless.
I was once complimented by a Russian woman on my good Russian rolling r, which is much like the Spanish one. I don’t always do it right, but I credit the fact that when I was a wee tyke, my siblings and I would sometimes entertain each other with silly mouth noises when we were supposed to be going to sleep. The rolling R was just one item in our inventory.
I went to Paris for the first and only time at Christmas time in the year 2000. I was told that you have to try to speak French first, and the French people would then laugh at you and start speaking English to you. So when I wanted to buy film for my camera (ahh, remember film?) at a store I just said the only French words I knew, which I had heard watching the French Open tennis tournament:
‘S’il vous plaît vous le vous je m appelle mademoiselle’
which basically means ‘please call me unmarried woman’.
Seriously, French people, if you speak English and you want to sell us film for our camera, just speak English to us. Get over yourself.